“If all that is true, why did you not rouse St. Ann’s at once?”
“Because I knew who the man was.”
There was a brief, electric silence.
“Who was the man?” said O’Leary very quietly.
“My cousin, Louis Letheny.” She brought the name out with a suggestion of triumph. I do not know whether it was a surprise to O’Leary or not; however, he said nothing for a full moment. His clear gray eyes were studying Corole’s face.
“Naturally,” went on Corole with a degree of malicious satisfaction, “naturally I could not arouse the hospital to advertise the fact that the head of the institution had just crawled through a window. Who was I to know Dr. Letheny’s purpose?”
“You are lying,” said O’Leary. “I warned you not to lie. The man you saw crawling through the window of Room 18 was not Dr. Letheny. You and Dr. Hajek were together in the orchard that night and you actually did lean at the window sill, intending to enter Room 18, but Dr. Letheny was already in Room 18. You and Dr. Hajek discussed whether it would be better to wait until Dr. Letheny came out of Room 18, or for Dr. Hajek to follow him into that room.”
In the twinkling of an eye Corole had become saffron yellow, the dabs of orange rouge on her cheeks stood out, emphasizing her high cheek-bones with grisly clearness; her eyes were flat and gleaming and her lips had drawn back a little from her teeth and the garish Chinese coat accentuated her ugly pallor.
“Who told you that?” she whispered through those hideous lips.
“Higgins told me,” replied O’Leary very distinctly.